For Your Enemy's Happiness
by Justanothersinger
Summary: Chrom has a hard time deciding if Robin is his saviour or his would-be murderer. Robin shares this sentiment. Part 2 of the insane!Robin series, features mild Chrobin.


For your enemy's happiness.

A Fire Emblem: Awakening fanfiction

There's a light knock on the door and it's enough to make Chrom pause.

Lissa usually barged in without warning. Same went for Frederick; contrary to popular opinion he had absolutely no qualms about bypassing that social custom. And Emm...

Who was it?

His hand itches for a sword that wasn't there. It's...conveniently enough near the door.

 _Calm down._

But his hand still grasps the rapier handle as he opens the door.

He barely has time to even look at his visitor before they push past him and walk into the room.

"What the-?!"

And he stops dead when he realizes just who was visiting him.

Even with the hood over his head, Chrom can see his smile, tired and weary. A smile that doesn't ever, never matches his the dark black of his eyes. That flickers ever so lightly when he shifts to hold up the girl in his arms.  
"Well met, prince. No...I should say king. Never thought you'd live long enough to attain the title."

"Robin?! What are you doing here?"

"I'd like to reply to that but first can you point me to a chair? This child is quite... _quite_ heavy."

"...Yeah, sure. She can rest on the bed."

Robin nods and carefully lowers the little girl on the bed, lifting her head back up to put a pillow under it. His movements are slow, deliberate. Uncharacteristically gentle.

"Thank you." He says, still turned towards her, "It's been a long journey."

"Is she all right?"

"Physically, yes. Though I cannot say the same for her mental wellbeing."

"What happened to her?"

"That I don't know. But considering she's come from _that_ cursed future, nothing good."

"Wait, did you say the future?! But doesn't that mean-!"

"Yes, she's just like the princess. Your daughter. She's come from a future set 10 years from this day."

" _A_ future?" Chrom asks with a frown. Robin still isn't looking at him, electing to direct his focus to his numb arms. He leisurely stretches and rolls his right arm back experimentally before he continues, "Yes, a future. Contrary to what you've been taught, more than one future is possible. And the future changes for each decision that you make, be it as mundane as deciding breakfast or much, _much_ more important. For instance, if I'd decided to kill you now", Chrom started at that and Robin finally looks at him, his normal slick grin sitting ill on his weary face, "I'd overpower you fast enough-even with a preemptive warning-and do it. Leaving a future where you wouldn't be...around anymore." His words trail away to empty space and he looks...uncomfortable almost? Before he continues with a tiny shake of his head, "And if I choose otherwise, you would still be alive and create a future where you've lived. Past that particular moment, at the very least."

"So, you're saying this girl came from a different future? One of those where things turned out different?"

"I'm almost sure of it." Robin says with a humorless chuckle, "I don't exactly see myself settling down with a woman anytime soon."

"Settling down with a woman...? You...she's your daughter?!"

There's a slight delay before Robin's answer. His words are confident, his tone that same derisory tone.

But there was a delay.

"There's no doubt. Blood doesn't lie."

 _Blood doesn't lie?_ Chrom's eyes scan the little girl's form. Though she was dressed in a shabby purple coat, full of gaping tears and dirt stains-a coat, Chrom realized, that was identical to Robin's-she appeared relatively unharmed. Her features were strikingly similar to Robin's; she even shared the color of his hair.  
He looks back to Robin to see him clench at his right hand. He's wearing a bitter expression now.

"There's no way she isn't my kin. I don't have any brothers or sisters."

"Your parents?"

"The resemblance to my dead mother is almost uncanny. No, she can only be my child."

"I'm sorry."

"Apologizing to your would-be-killer?" Robin asks harshly, "For an event long past and not of your causing? Save your breath for when you need it."

"You looked hurt."

"I've been hurt by worse." And somehow, Chrom doubted that. Robin takes a step back and stares at the prince with renewed interest, "And you...you've changed. Not only in status, it seems." Robin says slowly, "You resemble _her_ now. In countenance, not bearing."  
He didn't even need to ask who Robin was talking about. "People have told me that."

"Ah, but it would be impossible to stay the same over two years." Robin continues, as if he hadn't heard Chrom's answer, "No matter how much you wish otherwise, people _will_ change."

"Is that another of your warnings to me?"

"I wonder."

"...What are you planning to do with her?"

"She can take care of herself."

"And she's ended up in that state."

"Risen and enemy countries hardly fight fair. And though the war is long over, the Grimleal are still hated as much as they are feared." Robin shrugged, "It was her own decision to wear that cloak."

"She can come with me."

"...And accepting strangers into your midst. Gods, I do not envy your guard dogs." Robin leans over and presses a hand to her forehead. His glove is still on and he's careful not to disturb her, "In any case, she'll choose whether or not she comes with you."

"Isn't that why you came here, though?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Again, Robin's tone hasn't changed a bit, but his body had gone still. Unnaturally so.

"You seemed pretty desperate. You care about her well-being, don't you?"

"...Still have that habit of presuming things, I see." His voice is soft, casual. Almost, _almost_ hiding the deathly chill of his words. Or perhaps it emphasized it.

"That would get you killed, you know. Dead in a pool of your own blood with your own organs strewn about." He says slowly, as if savoring every word. A slow shiver rises in him, "A painful, horrible death wouldn't be good enough for you." He hissed, a slow mad smile passing over his face. Like the mere thought of his sent pleasure coursing through his body. "So why don't you try to avoid that fate and keep that mouth of yours closed."

"...I'll..." Remarkably, Chrom's voice is still calm somehow, "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

"Would you now."

"You're not the first one to have told me these things."

Robin laughs again. This time, it's much more different, less than empty air. Chrom's already painfully familiar with this sound though he's only heard it twice before.

"Ah...of course not." Robin says, "Goodbye."

And he walks out the door with another word.

Chrom's eyes linger on the door long after he had left, until the little girl starts to stir.

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"If you see him," Henry says, "Best to run or you'll be playing in a pool of your own blood!"

"So I've heard." Chrom says. He still doesn't fully trust the dark mage, but Henry is exemplary when it came to gathering information. And he seemed to have plenty to spare when it came to Robin.

A Grimleal follower and one of the high-ranking ones; most of the other followers seem to respect him as a leader. And a leader he was, with a tongue of poisoned honey and more blood on his hands than even Gangrel. A leader that was more reminiscent of a mad dog than Gangrel, but whom people still seemed to trust implicitly.

He came out of nowhere one day and earned his living as a sellsword until Validar had found him, adding sword-fighting to the already considerable range of magic that he can perform.

And anyone who had hired him may as well have made a deal with Grima himself.

"He's the best you can ever ask for when it comes to killing people. In fact, he's way too good!" Henry clarifies, "The problem is that he doesn't always stick to the contract he's set. If there's _any_ person in his path, he cuts them down, friend and foe alike. And more often than not, he causes even more problems to the guy who's hired him. And those looking for quick, bloodless kills would do well to pick someone else." He finishes with his usual morbid smile.

"You said that he doesn't usually approach people. How is he contracted?"

"He's only contracted when he wants to be contracted. In most cases, _he's_ the one who approaches _them._ He more likely to kill his employer, then. Or at least horribly maim their family members. Even if they hadn't paid him for his services yet! There's also something else..."  
"What?"

"The new king, Validar? He seems to like him a bit too much. He's either at the castle or with the Plegian generals, not too far from his side. Usually, anyway." Henry says, putting a finger to his chin, "Then, he disappears for a long time. Most people say that he goes off on his own killing sprees."

"I can imagine."

Even now, the image of that first meeting was burned bright in his mind. The red, the screams, the _smell_...

"Why do you wanna know about him, anyway? Planning on hiring him? That would considerably tip the odds in our favor, but we'd have more corpses than we could bury. There'd be one heck of a revolt!"

"No, I'm not planning on hiring him. I just remembered I saw someone that may have been him long before."

"Impossible." Henry says immediately.

"What do you mean?"

"Like I said, anyone who's seen him has died or is dying slowly and horribly, cursed never to speak. He's pretty big on secrecy. You might've seen one of his loyal copycat followers. He's got a following bigger than the king's!"

"You may be right." Chrom says, but his mind had already shut off the rest of the conversation.

He knows for a fact that Robin was the one he saw.

And that Robin was the one that had saved his life.

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Fire in his lungs, in his throat.

 _It feels wrong_ , is what he thinks before he sucks in a deep breath and groans as his ribs seemed to creak. His nose is filled with the smell of burning flesh and it churns his stomach, he feels like throwing up.

"Don't move."

The words were stern, the whisper tender. Something brushing the hair that stuck to his cheek.

...That voice. Familiar?

Something cold near his lips. Burning his throat with a familiar taste.

And something warm, feathery light pressed above his eyes. Chrom couldn't feel much in his body except for pain, pain, _pain._

But he felt the words whispered near his forehead.

"Gods...I almost lost you..."

He sounds near close to crying.

...That seems...strange...

"Ro...bin?"

"...! They're coming."

Chrom realizes then that there's sound everywhere. Loud sounds, the clang of swords, the shouts, the screams. Horrifyingly familiar sounds.

The war.

He feels the ground on his back again and sees the rustle of clothes. Robin crouching down next to him.

"I have to do this. I can do this." He mutters, "I can protect you. Just...just for a little while. I-I..."

"Robin?"

"Just stay there. I won't let anything happen to you. I promised."

The itchy crackle of static on his skin.

When Robin stands back up, he sees the faint glimmer of a gold tome.

"I will protect you. I swear it."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

When Chrom wakes up, it had been a week since the battle was won.

He'd been extraordinarily lucky, the healers say, because the wounds that he suffered would have easily killed him, then and there on the battlefield. Even if Chrom had managed to drag himself to one of the abandoned forts to take shelter. Broken ribs, internal bleeding and bad shock damage.

And yet, the recovery process had been smooth, his wounds healed almost seamlessly. The most he'd take away from this ordeal was a scar on his arm.

Naga herself willed his safe recovery, they all say, there's no other explanation.

Chrom has to agree

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"Somehow I doubt that Naga had anything to do with this." Tharja informs him dryly.

She surprised him with this sudden visit, she surprised him even more with her words.

"Why do you say that?"

"Those fruit bats have kept quiet about this but...when we found you, your body showed signs of being tampered with. By dark magic, no less."

"D-" Chrom's fairly certain the concoction they had given him was stronger than it had been and he was dreaming up this entire encounter, "Dark magic?!"

"Relax. It wasn't anything that was harmful."

"Not harmful? There are different types of dark magic?"

Tharja sighs impatiently, "Yes there is. While the origins of dark magic would make you quiver in your boots, they can be used for purposes outside the usual cursing and hexes. And the spell cast on you was for quick healing. Without it, you would have bled to death then and there, on the battlefield."

"And who cast it?"

"That...I don't know. And it irritates me." She says. The words themselves were almost a snarl, "The caster had made it almost impossible for us to track him via the spell and the magic itself is almost incomprehensible. I can't guess their name, age or anything, all I could learn was that they were most likely Plegian."

"A Plegian caster? So, wait, someone from the opposing army saved my life?" Chrom asks in disbelief.

"Hardly." She scoffs, "None of those cowardly fools had the caliber to even oppose me 10-on-one, much less cast something this complex. No, it was someone outside the Mad King's army. An interloper."

"An interloper?"

"Do you remember anything? From that time?"

 _A panicked voice, the soft touch of cold hands and a kiss pressed to his forehead._

 _Fearful. Almost devoted._

 _The strength of a promise in a voice as bright and fiery as the sun._

 _"I will protect you. I swear it."_

"No. I don't."

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"Chrom?" He looks up to see Morgan at the entrance, smiling brightly at him.

"Oh, Morgan."

"Are you busy now? I have something to talk about."

"Not really. What is it?"

Morgan enters the tent and draws a tome from her bag.

"Isn't that?"

"Yes! It's Father's tome. When I was reading it earlier, I remembered most of the words almost immediately! I think it was his favorite one."

Chrom glances over at it. Now that he thought about it, didn't that cover look familiar?

"Is that a spell book of some kind?"

"It is! It's a Thoron tome. Though most of the usable incantations are burned out now. Father was using it mostly to store notes on tactics. See?" She flips through a couple of pages and holds it out in front of herself.  
Words were scrawled out on the burnt blank pages, in different colours of ink. Sometimes, the words were neat and cramped, at other times, scrawling and large. Words viciously cut out, words cut through with a single strike, words that dictated spells and strategies and types of swords and spears, with a detailed list of their strengths and weaknesses.

"This looks...complicated."

"It is, kind of. Father really knew his stuff! Though he constantly kept saying that he never stopped learning, that he needed to learn more to be a better tactician. And I'm nowhere near as much of a match for him, so I need to catch up!"

"You've mentioned that before. That your father was a tactician. What do you mean exactly by that?"

Morgan tilts her head slightly, "That's what Father calls himself. He says the word came from an old legend from here."

"And what did he _do_ exactly?" Chrom asks, squinting at the notes again.

Morgan's face brightened and her words came out in a rush, "He did all sorts of things! Swords and tomes, but he was the best at strategy by far. He was also a pretty good carpenter! See?" She rifled through her bag again and held out a little wooden piece. It was carved into the shape of a person, surprisingly detailed, "He made this himself! And he was good at managing finances; he made sure we never starved but was always mindful of our weapons choice. And he was smart, he had to be, but he was smarter than most people! And-"

"W-wow. That's pretty impressive."

"He is, isn't he?" She said, beaming. Chrom could feel a smile of his own forming, "You really love your father, don't you?"

"Mm-hm! I'm pretty sure everyone around him did! He was kind and helpful and giving too." Morgan's smile faltered a bit, before she continues, just as brightly, "When we find him, you'll see all that for yourself, Chrom!"

"I guess I will."

"I'll go back to my tent now. I still have a lot of studying to do before I practice my swordplay!"

"You do that."

Morgan leaves in as much of a hurry as she came. And Chrom doesn't resume his work.

Instead he sits back and closes his eyes.

Kind. Helpful. Giving.

Chrom doubted that Robin wanted to be found.

But it's not like he could tell her that.

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He couldn't tell her that the man who attacked them that morning was her father.

He couldn't tell her that the man who led an army of brigands against them, ambushed them at their weakest was their father.

He couldn't tell her that the cloaked figure-a different cloak from last time-standing on the top of that hill with a familiar looking tome, who struck down their mages with one hit, was her father.

He couldn't tell her that the man who had singlehandedly slaughtered half their army with a mere bronze sword was her father.

The man who had single-handedly trapped them like rats with a handful of brigands.

Who had almost killed his own daughter.

He couldn't tell her that that man was her father.

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"What are you doing here?!"

The words would be threatening if his voice didn't sound so weak.

Chrom steps away from the shadows and sees Robin visibly flinch. He still glares at him though, as the prince steps closer to the foot of the tree.

"What are you...doing?"

"None of your business." Robin snarls. He's still clutching his shoulder and he still has a pained expression on his face. His shoulders are hunched.

When he looks at him, Chrom sees discomfort, fear clear as day on his face.

His bruised, bloodied face.

"...Tch. Even now..."

"Even now?"

"You've still...not lost that habit of yours."

"What habit?"

He needed to keep Robin talking, so he could get closer.

"Just another bad habit of yours." Robin replies.

"So I have a lot of those?"

"I suppose."

There's the crunch of a branch underfoot and Robin looks up sharply, sees Chrom approach. "Stay away!"

"You're hurt."

"I want to be hurt."

"Why?" Chrom asks and his voice is gentle. He makes no attempt to hide his movements now, but they're slow. As if approaching a cornered beast.

He honestly felt that way.

"Just leave!" Robin shouts now and he draws his arms into the sleeves of his coat.

Before he knows it, Chrom is kneeling by his side. Close enough to feel the boy's hot, rapid breath.

Close enough to feel his skin, cold, marked with more bruises and more fresh blood.

"You shouldn't be this close." Robin says and he's whispering now. His eyes are gentle now and there's a sad smile on his face.

"Why?"

"Adding 'poor memory' to your list of faults." Robin says and he chuckles, "Did you forget? I tried to kill you three days before."

"But you saved my life, didn't you?"

"There are ways to kill you without me even touching you."

"You wouldn't. I don't think you would."

"Why?" Robin asks and he sounds so, so exhausted now.

"You made a promise to me, didn't you?"

His laughter is faint, lacking any energy. "Do you even know what it entails?"

"No."

"Of course not. You don't even know me."

"I'm sorry. Where did we meet before?"

"There's no point in telling you. Just leave me be, Chrom."

"We need to get you treated!"

"I've lived through worse."

"...She's much better now. Your daughter, Morgan."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. You managed to get her help at the right time."

"I see."

"...She's been asking about you."

"And have you yet told her that her father is a murderer?"

"No."

"Soft as always."

Cuts on his fingers, on his knuckles.

"Who did this to you?"

"Who knows? Perhaps I've even done this to myself." Robin laughs again at the look on Chrom's expression, "Would that be so strange for you to believe? Hm?"

His fingers are cold. Chrom knew that already.

And they're still cold as ice when they trace his cheek. Gentle.

"Would you be sad if I died?"

Chrom doesn't answer. It's enough for Robin.

"Of course you wouldn't. At least you're stupidly honest."

Chrom stumbles back as Robin pulls himself to his feet and manages to catch him before he falls. "Robin!"

"Ngh..."

"You need help! Come back to camp with me and-!"

Robin shakes his head and tries to push him away. Chrom holds on.

And they fall back against the tree, Robin hissing at the impact.

"Agh..."

"I'm sorry!"

"Please...leave me alone..." Robin says, he's almost pleading, "Before I..."

"Before you?"

"Leave me be, damn it all!"

"And if I don't?"

"You'd probably live for a longer time. Or past this night."

"I think I'll take my chances."

"Gods, you...you have no sense of self-preservation at all, do you?"

"So I've been told."

Robin shakes his head and when he looks back up, the smile's back on his face. But the look in his eyes is sad, heartbreaking even.

Even as he closes the distance between them to kiss Chrom softly on the lips.

"I suppose," He says and the words are warm on Chrom's lips, "I have my work cut out for me as your designated 'saviour'."

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End file.
